


The Clock

by Lil_Superheroes



Category: Dark Matter (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Six's Betrayal, But just barely, Does this count as a romance?, F/M, Feels, Friendship, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, It's a little shippy, My attempt at symbolism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2016-09-03
Packaged: 2018-05-28 17:28:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6338503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lil_Superheroes/pseuds/Lil_Superheroes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Have you ever wanted to know what it was like to be punched in the face by a thousand megawatts of sunshine? Four didn’t. But he did now. And he was not prepared to deal with that shit.</p>
<p>OR </p>
<p>Five times that Five smiled at Four, and one time he smiled back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

** The Clock  **

Four was used to fake people. All his life had been one giant game of politics, filled with weak handshakes, empty compliments and smiles that never reached the eyes. Even now, as a mercenary he was surrounded by liars constantly. Nobody could be trusted. Everyone always had an ulterior motive. Everyone was skin-deep. Everyone except Five, that is.

He was not blind. He knew that the girl had secrets of her own. But not even he, the single most paranoid man in the galaxy, could deny that when she smiled, it was always one hundred percent _real_. So real, in fact, that whenever she directed it at him, he felt completely out of his element. Have you ever wanted to know what it was like to be punched in the face by a thousand megawatts of sunshine? Four didn’t. But he did now. And he was not prepared to deal with that shit.

….

_“Hey,” she says, standing up and padding over. He had just walked in on her suspiciously crawling around underneath the table, searching for something. He was about to grill her on what she was doing, but was taken aback when she spotted him and her face broke into the hugest smile he had ever seen in his life._

_“I just wanted to say thank you.”_

_“For what?”_

_She looks so genuinely_ grateful, _and he wondered what she could have possibly dreamt that made her so excited about his existence all of a sudden._

_“Just. For everything.”_

_He snorts, as if trying to dismiss her. He forgot why he came to the mess hall. He no longer cared. He just wanted to get out of there._

….

She was a foreign creature to him, one that he had no idea how to interact with. He tried to ignore her. Yet, just like the real sun, he found himself constantly orbiting her. They rarely spoke, but he was always aware of her presence, studying her movements and facial expressions as if they were somehow relevant to the task at hand. It was because she had all of their memories, so he _had_ to watch her. To make sure she wasn’t a threat.

It had been one hundred and seventeen days since they first woke up, and exactly 32 days since Six betrayed them. Ever since then, he noticed she had changed. She began to isolate herself, never talking with the others, and usually hiding in the vents. He told himself it didn’t matter, but an increasingly annoying voice in his head kept nagging at him. Eventually, he reasoned that her sadness had become _distracting_. It was keeping the two of them from focusing on their work, so the logical solution would be to fix the problem. Out of practicality, of course.

He has to knock several times before the door finally opens. On the occasions that Five did spend time with the group-which were becoming fewer and further in between-she kept her head down, making it difficult to get a good look at her. But now he can clearly see the dark circles underneath her eyes, and the pronounced edges of her cheekbones. She had skipped breakfast today, again. He had half a mind to just shove the awful tasting bars down her throat, but he’s learned that with her, it’s best to have a more gentle approach.

Plus, he’s pretty sure that force feeding someone their shitty space food would be considered a crime against humanity. And because he doesn’t want to add yet another crime to his already infamous record, he’s got a better idea.

“Hey.” She says, “Is something wrong with the ship?”

“No.” He plops a small brown box in her hands. “I need you to fix this.”

She opens it up. Inside were the butchered remains of a murdered clock. The shop keeper had looked very alarmed when he had bought the thing and then proceeded to violently beat it with a hammer, but there was a method to his madness. A girl like Five would have no use for a working object. She needed a challenge, something to nurture her curiosity. She needed a dead clock.

She gingerly picks up an arm that had fallen off. “It looks like it was hit by a bus.”

“Yes. It has been through much. But it’s made out of strong materials, and I believe that it can function again.”

She looks up at him. He clears his throat.

“Can you fix it?”

For a moment, he worries that he might have been a little too enthusiastic and she wasn’t going to be able to repair it and his plan had failed. But she seems to consider it. Turning it around, he can practically see her brain working.

“Yeah,” she says, quietly. “I think so.”

....

One hundred and twenty one days in, he finds her crying in one of the far corners of the ship, her clock still in pieces beside her. He moves into her peripheral vision, and waits for her to compose herself. She sniffles, wiping her face on her sleeve.

“I looked at it.” She murmurs, eyes downcast. “But it’s broken really bad. I don’t think it’s fixable.”

“Maybe for somebody else. But not for you.”

“I don’t know if I can.”

“You have to.”

She chuckles, a dry humourless sound that was entirely wrong coming from her. “Why? There are lots of other ways to tell time on this ship. More efficient ways.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want a different clock.” He meets her gaze and holds it there. “I want this one. I know you can fix it, Five, and you will make it better than it was before. I expect nothing less from you.”

She closes her eyes, seeming to age decades. “I know, I know. I’m sorry, Four. I shouldn’t make excuses. It’s just that ever since Six-”

“Do not think about that now.” He interrupts. “Just focus. What’s the first step?”

She takes a deep breath. “Well, first, I need to remove the…”

As he listens to her ramble mostly to herself, he feels his anger renewed, and he makes a vow in his own mind: If he ever sees Six again, he will break him just as badly as he had the clock. But this time, no one will be able to repair him.

….

For the next few weeks, he watches her come back to life. Day after day, she sits at the dining table, tinkering away at things he doesn’t even try to understand. Sometimes he would sit beside her in silence and hand her her tools while she worked. With Six finally expelled from her mind, she was very focused, and determined, in a way she hasn’t been for a long time. Perhaps overly so.

“Dammit!” she yells, on day one hundred and thirty. Her screwdriver clatters loudly on the table, making them all look up.

“Something wrong, sweetheart?” One asks.

She growls, “One of the springs came out _again_! Stupid motherfuc-” she spirals into a sling of colourful curses.

Two immediately narrows her eyes at Three. “What have you been teaching her?”

“Nothing!” She doesn’t look convinced. “Really! I got no fucking clue where she learned her damn language from. Honest.”

“ _Three_!”

While the rest of his team continued to bicker, Four felt hope like the first rays of light, peeking out from behind the clouds after a storm. Feeling frustration was better than feeling nothing at all. This was progress. He slides into the chair next to her and presses a green protein bar into her palm.

“You’ll think better on a full stomach.”

She nods, and begins to eat.

….

On day one hundred and thirty four, Five bursts into the training room, her cheeks pink with excitement.  

“It’s done, Four.” She says, breathlessly. “I did it. Or at least, I think I did. I haven’t tried to set it yet, I’m too nervous.”

Wordlessly, he sets down his sword, and goes to sit on a bench.

“Let’s see it.” She comes over, and carefully takes it out of its box. It’s not even recognizable. The broken glass had been replaced. The wood, freshly sanded to be cherry red. The metal polished until it gleamed. When Four had first seen the clock in the back corner of the shop, it sat forgotten and covered in a thick layer of dust. Now, it was something entirely new. A different clock. A better one.

He nods once, and she opens the little door on the back to take out the pendulum. He can see all the little gears, and is fascinated by how something so small and seemingly simple could be so complex.

She turns the winding key, letting it ring out twelve times. Then she places the pendulum back inside, sets the time, and waits. They both find themselves holding their breaths in the millisecond it takes for it to begin working.

Then, the ticking starts. But Four hardly noticed. Instead, his attention was on Five. Surprise colours her face, briefly, before it shifts and slowly, the sun comes out again. But this time it doesn’t startle him.

“It’s working!” her smile widens, making the corners of her eyes crinkle. “It’s actually working! I did it!”

“It’s perfect.” He agrees. “You did good, little warrior.”

Her expression softens. She tries to hand it to him, but he shakes his head.

“Keep it.”

Her eyebrows scrunch together. “But I thought you wanted it.”

“No,” he says, watching the yellow light reflect off her cheek. “I already got what I was looking for.”


	2. Scars

** Scars **

Four had never been a colourful man, preferring to dress only in darker shades. Now, however, his body was a sickly rainbow. His left eye was a black hole that took up a good portion of his face. Around his cheekbone it faded, melting into deep purple and blue spots that trailed down to his jaw. Ugly yellow finger-shaped lines circled his throat.

His right side had faired only slightly better. Small pink cuts littered his face, varying in degrees of seriousness. There was a large gash that had to be stitched shut, starting from his temple and ending near his upper lip. It was thick and angry red and stood out dramatically against his skin. He runs his finger over the bumpy surface, frowning. The bruises would heal, but the scar would always be there, a constant reminder of his own weakness.

Earlier, he had caught a glimpse of his reflection dancing on the edge of his blade.

Pathetic. He looked pathetic.

It was day number two hundred and forty six, and Four was still recovering from a beating that he had taken a few days earlier. And by “recovering”, that was to say that he was continuing with his daily routine as if nothing had happened. He was a perfect soldier, taught to treat any obstacle like an enemy to be conquered, and personal injuries were no different.

Right now, he was in the storage area, aggressively going through crates as if they had done something terribly offensive to him. Like trying to initiate conversation.

“I would advise you not to do that.” The voice of the Android rang out behind him as he struggled to lift with his one good arm. He stiffens, angrily. “The stress of this activity could cause-”

“Thank you.” He says, curtly, and in one swift motion he crosses the floor, shutting the door in her face. On any other day, he might have felt a pang of guilt, but not today. The mere thought of pity-even unintentional-causes his stomach to turn with disgust.

…..

“You look like shit.” Three commented as he dragged himself into the mess hall. Four gave no sign of acknowledgement, instead grabbing a bowl and trying to eat. Discomfort flashed across his features when the simple act of chewing caused him pain. The older man watched him carefully, concern peering out underneath layers of arrogance and apathy.

“Surprised the robot even letcha out of bed,” he quipped, lightly. “Shouldn’t you be resting or something?”

Four’s gaze seemed to pierce through him. “I refuse to let anyone keep me from my duties."

"What, you can't catch up on some Zs in between jobs?"

"It's not only that. The ship needs work. And I need to continue with my training.”

A smirk. “Pretty sure you can go a few days without playing with your stick.”

Three was expecting at least an annoyed glare, but he seems too tired even for that. He continues eating, his body on autopilot. Three lets his façade drop completely and gives him a sympathetic look.

“Hey buddy, here drink this. It’s pain medicine.”

He pushes his glass in his direction, and Four gulps it down without a second thought.

“This is not medicine. It’s really shitty bourbon.”

“Oh, but it _is_ medicine.” He insists. “Medicine for your soul!”

The cold air stinging the cuts on his skin and the slow, throbbing pain from his ribs told him that it wasn’t his _soul_ that needed healing. Still, the slight buzz he felt was pleasant and it made him forget all his failures. He motioned for a refill.

…..

He is never going to take medical advice from Three ever again. The next morning, his body was intent on punishing him for his foolish actions. A drum pounded repeatedly in his head, and with every tiny movement, a fresh surge of nausea would roll through him, each one even more powerful than the last. He moans, rushing to the waste bin in the corner of the room and falling to his knees, vomiting. With every heave, his insides would twist painfully, and he felt the strength escaping his muscles like a deflating balloon.

Above him, the circular light glared harshly, burning his retinas. Suddenly, a shadow eclipsed over it, large and imposing, and slowly, it began to change. The blurred edges sharpened and came into focus, morphing into the familiar shape of a woman.

Two.

She watched him with a blank expression. He stood, with a surprising amount of dignity for a person with blood and saliva trickling down his chin.

“You’re running yourself into the ground.” she says, not bothering to hide her judgement.

“It’s only a minor setback.”

“Oh? Is _that_ what we’re calling it? `Cause from where I’m standing, it doesn’t look that way.”

“Perhaps- ” He gags again. “You just need a change in perspective.”

“Maybe. Or maybe you just need a goddamn nap and some fluids.”

His body trembles with barely concealed-dizziness? Rage? Shame? He doesn’t know. All he knows is that right now he’s in a very vulnerable position, and that is unacceptable. He needs to regain some control.

“No. We are going on a mission in a few days and I need to learn how to pilot this ship.”

At the moment, Two was attempting to teach Four how to drive the Marauder. With Six gone, it was in need of a new captain. But, try as he might, he couldn’t listen to her instructions, couldn’t pay attention to anything beyond the cold sweat that he was drenched in.

There was a flash of kindness from Two.

“About that. Four, you won’t be coming with us.”

He whips around. _“What?”_

“Don’t look so surprised. You’re practically dead on your feet. We both know you’d be a liability.”

He can’t argue with that no matter how much he wants to. Still, he can’t help but cling to his pride like a shield.

“Who’s taking my place?” he demands, stubbornly.

His leader sighs, and he hates the look in her eyes.

“The Android. She’s going to be our getaway driver. You’re going to stay here and get some sleep.” She softens. “It’ll do you good.”

Without another word, she leaves the room. Four sees himself once again in the windshield of the ship. That stupid scar is still there, brighter than ever, mocking him.

He turns away. He can’t look anymore.

…..

He could feel that he was being watched. His eyes were closed but his body told him that something was wrong. His muscles tensed and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. He doesn’t react immediately, and continues his forms as if nothing were out of the ordinary. Then without warning, he struck outward, thrusting his sword towards his audience. He opens his eyes, only to find the tip of his blade pointed directly at Five. He immediately retreats.

“You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that.” He snaps. Normally, he would be able to stop himself before he sliced her throat open, but his reflexes had been slow of late. What if he had slipped?

Five just tilts her head at him, not at all fazed by the deadly weapon being pointed at her face.

“I thought you’d be here.” She says. Of course he is. He’s always in the training room. She, on the other hand, is only ever there when he’s giving her self-defence lessons.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, bluntly. The others had all gone out for the night. She should be with them.

Instantly, the girl begins to fidget.

“Nothing…” she falters. Four briefly wonders how the hell someone who hangs around with a bunch of mercenaries could be such a terrible liar.

“Two sent you here, didn’t she?” he says, flatly. She relaxes.

“Yeah. She was going to send Three, because he was annoying her, but he said ‘send the kid, he’s less likely to impale her’. And she agreed. And-”she blushes slightly.

“- _AndIwantedtocome._ ”

She stares down at her feet, embarrassed. He assesses the young woman in front of him, but the warmth he should have felt was drowned out by his insecurities.

“I don’t need a babysitter.” He spits, a bitter taste coating his tongue. “Leave.”

She shrank back, but only for a moment, before she regained her confidence. She pulls herself to her full height, broadening her shoulders in what he had taught her as a fighting stance.

“No.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

Her delicate features, usually tranquil as a lake on a summer day, began to freeze over, shrouding her expression in a blanket of ice that mirrored his own.

“Neither was I. I’m just as much a member of this team as you are. I don’t need your permission.”

He’s really starting to miss the days that she was afraid of him.

“Fine.” His jaw quenches. He begins to walk away, but she speaks up, sounding apologetic.

“Come on Four, don’t be like that.”

“I don’t want your pity.”

“It isn’t pity!” she shouts, her words echoing off the walls. Four stops walking and looks back at her, surprised. Even Five seems startled by her own outburst. She hesitates, and then continues, her tone thawing.

“We’re worried about you, Four. You know why we’re worried about you? Because we’re afraid that if we leave you alone, you’ll do something crazy like try to train while you have a conclusion, a broken arm and three cracked ribs! Can’t you see how lucky you are, stupid head?!”

He frowns down at this tiny, five-foot tall sliver of a girl who just called the crowned warrior prince of Zairon a “stupid head”.

“And why am I lucky?” he asks, quietly. Five shoots him an exasperated look.

“Because you have so many people that care about you and you don’t even _know_ it! I would have given anything to have somebody worry about me all those times I got beat up!”

At that, he felt the last of his fight leave him. Even though he always suspected that Five had a bad home life, to have it confirmed still felt like a bucket of cold water being dumped on him. He wants to say something, but words have alluded him. So, he changes the subject with a clearing of his throat.

“So, what does one do to…Recuperate?” he prods.

“I don’t know. Maybe…I got some tea from the market. It’s supposed to be good for your immune system. You want some of that?”

And so the two of them sat on the exercise mats, sipping tea out of plastic cups. It tasted awful, but it eased his headache, and with every mouthful he felt his eyelids grow heavier. But even in his tired state, he could feel her eyes on him. Instinctively, he ducked his head, trying to hide his scar. She notices this.

“No, don’t-it’s not bad, really. I just thought it was fascinating.”

That is decidedly not how he would describe it, but he could tell she was being sincere.

When he doesn’t respond, she continues, smiling gently.

“The human body is really amazing. Did you know that there are three different kinds of scars? Yours is called a hypertrophic scar. You can tell because the skin is slightly raised…”

She carries on rambling about the natural healing process and the rate of cellular reproduction. Normally he hates when people talk too much, but now he finds that he doesn’t mind. Even though he wasn’t listening to the words, the sound of her voice washes over him in waves, and he feels himself slowly drifting, drifting…

…..

At some point during her little biology lecture, Four must have fallen asleep. When he opens his eyes again, he’s still laying on the floor, but this time with a blanket covering him. He sits up, surrounded by pitch blackness, and listens intently. He hears nothing but the occasional groaning of the pipes, and he comes to the conclusion that it is late at night and everybody else is already in bed.

He claps once, activating the lights, and begins to make his way to his room when he realizes something. While he was unconscious, his teammates had apparently written little notes on his cast.

There was a message in small, light cursive that read,

_Get well soon-One_

By his wrist, a blocky number _2_ was scribed in felt pen, and underneath that was a badly drawn penis that was undoubtedly from the ever-so-mature Three. And-he notices with something that was dangerously close to fondness-a small picture of a clock, sketched in the spot beside his elbow.

He almost smiles but his face hurts too much.


	3. Strays

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! So this chapter is my longest yet. It was a bitch to write, and it is very violent. So here's a warning: Don't read if you're easily grossed out. Please leave a comment and enjoy! :D

** Strays **

It was a cold afternoon precisely four hundred and eleven days since they first awoke in their stasis pods. It was a unique day, because it was the day of Five’s first real job. Today she would be going solo. Or solo with one body guard, because like hell any of them were going to let her leave the ship completely alone.

The task was a simple, yet vague retrieval given to them by Calchek. They were to break into a research facility and steal some files. That was it. They didn’t even need to sneak in, due to the fact that the planet had been abandoned for some years, after a chemical leak rendered the air unbreathable. Five was needed for her computer skills. Four was only there to give Two some peace of mind and provide her with protection should she need it. As they made their way through the deserted streets, however, it became clear that she did not.

The remains of the tiny town were in surprisingly good shape. The buildings still stood, their paint faded into dull monochrome shades that blended perfectly with the thick layers of dust that covered everything like a blanket. Four couldn’t help but wonder what threats may lay dormant underneath. An unsettling sense of Deja-vu hit him. It was as if the entire planet was frozen in an artificial sleep.

The very air around them was oppressive. The smog smelled sour, and was so thick that you could hardly see a few feet in front of you. His oxygen mask felt like a muzzle. He wasn’t the only one on edge. Beside him, Five kept so close that their arms would occasionally brush. He gripped his sword so tightly that his knuckles were turning white.

Despite the general unease that the ghost town gave, they made it to their destination without incident. It only took Five a few minutes to download the information onto a hard drive. By the time they began to head back, it was already late evening. Harsh shadows loomed above, twisting the landscapes into distorted shapes. They were nearly at the meeting point when a sudden noise shattered the peace. It was a high-pitched whine that sounded more animal than human. Five jumped. Four pulled out his sword.

It appeared to be coming from an abandoned car about a meter away. Cautiously, the two of them crept forward.

There, curled into a ball behind the front tire, was a dog. At least, he thought it was a dog. It looked more like a rat. It was very small and scrawny. Its ribs were plainly visible from underneath mangy white and brown fur. Oversized floppy ears framed a gaunt face with huge, glowing yellow eyes. Those eyes made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. They just seemed wrong somehow.

He must’ve been staring for longer than he realized, because a gasp from Five brought him back to reality. Before he could stop her, she rushed ahead, tentatively reaching out her hand. The animal whimpered again, a truly pitiful sound, and inched away in fear. When it became apparent that it wasn’t going to attack, she scooped it up, cradling it like a baby. He opens his mouth to object, but she stops him, saying,

“He’s hurt.”

Four looked and sure enough, his left back paw was bent at an unnatural angle. He clenched his jaw stubbornly.

“It’s wild and probably has diseases. Put it back.”

“He needs help.”

“It’s dangerous.”

She frowns at him. Her blue eyes seemed to be even sharper in the gray sky. He could feel the sting of their disapproval. The wind picked up, spitting frozen rain at them that soaked through to their bones. They needed to get inside quickly. She continued walking, glancing at him over her shoulder.

“Then I guess he’ll fit right in.”

…..

He had never had his opinions so outright dismissed before. It was an odd feeling, he thought as he watched the thing excitedly patter around the ship’s control room. He didn’t like it. His argument that it could carry diseases was quickly debunked by a scan from the Android, who then proceeded to inform them that keeping a pet was good for dealing with stress. He had scoffed at that. For him, there was no better stress release than training. A pet was pointless.

He knew that One would vote to keep it. Two was reluctant at first, but eventually caved under the power of Five’s puppy eyes, pun not intended. He supposed he couldn’t really fault the captain for that. Those puppy eyes could persuade entire nations. If Five ever decided to try to take over the galaxy, then they would all be doomed. What he wasn’t expecting was for _Three_ of all people to vote against him. He was uncharacteristically quiet at first, but his eyes lit up like a child’s.

“He sure is an ugly little runt, ain’t he?” He reaches out to scratch behind his ears, and in response the dog began to tug on his sleeve. He smiles. “Then again, so is One, and we kept him anyhow.”

In the background, One made a rude sound but ignored him nevertheless.

“What are you going to name him?” he asked.

Everyone had a different opinion on what the beast should be called. One suggested 'Max'. Two offered 'Seven'. Three said 'Fluffy' and they all turned to stare at him.

Finally Four spoke up again. “Well Five,” he pressed. “It’s your pet, what are you going to call him?”

Five was silent as she gazed at the defenceless, injured creature that she had saved from the cold.

“TJ.” She said, softly.

Four met eyes with Two. Neither of them knew the significance of the name but no one dared to argue with the girl when she got that sad, dreamlike look on her face.

TJ. It was as good of a name as any.

…..

The animal turned out to be not as much of nuisance as he thought. He was pretty quiet and trailed after Five everywhere like a newly hatched chick. The only inconvenience was that, for whatever reason, it seemed to _like_ him. This was a problem. The last thing he needed was for some useless pup to get in his way.

It stared at him as he was in the training room, lifting weights. (He doesn’t _only_ fence. Sometimes he does other activities, so long as those activities involved being in the gym and isolating himself from other humans.)

He glares. It wags its tail at the acknowledgement and drops something at his feet, a toy. It wants him to play fetch.

Ryo Tetsuda does not play fetch.

“Go away.”

“Woof!”

He then attempts to physically shove it away. The beast however, takes this as an invitation for play and leaps to its feet, panting. Four slides a hand across his face in long-suffering frustration. Getting an idea, he picks up the toy and throws it as hard as he can out the door. His plan backfires. In its haste to retrieve the object, it bumps into a shelf, sending his clock tumbling. That was the very same clock that he had given to Five several months before. It now stayed in the training room, proudly on a shelf, where he could always see it.

(So he could check the time, obviously.)

He hears it clatter to the floor and feels anger grip him.

“Five!” he snaps, knowing that she was had to be nearby if her pet was there.

Sure enough, the mechanic pops her head through the doorway a few moments later.

“Yeah, Four?”

“You need to get your animal under control.”

She ignores him in favor of looking around the room.

“What was that noise?” she asks. Her gaze lands on the clock. “Oh, I see.”

She picks it up and puts it back in its rightful place. It doesn’t appear to be damaged.

“You know,” she says, casually. “I never pegged you as the sentimental type.”

He laughs, but it’s not a real laugh. It was a cold, condescending sound that slithered out of his mouth. “Unlikely. I just don’t want some weak little stray disrupting my peace.”

Taking TJ in her arms, she cringes at his tone but still regards him calmly.

“Actually, you might not remember, but you once saved a stray on this ship, too. And it turned out to be the right decision.”

She leaves then, and he stares at the spot where she had stood, wondering. She had to be lying. There was no way he would ever do such a thing.

…..

On day four hundred and nineteen, they stop at some backwater planet for drinks. Five probably shouldn’t be there, but one scary look from Two convinces the bartender otherwise. She sits with her short legs dangling off the too-tall barstool, observing everything with open curiosity. Four stands guard nearby while simultaneously ignoring her.

About an hour into the night, Two had accumulated her own little fan club. A group of patrons crowded around her, all cheering and taking bets as she challenged the third biker to an arm-wrestling competition. One was passed out with his face squished against Three’s shoulder, who looked pretty damn content about that. Five was helping some college student with his math homework.

It was around this time that he was approached by a man in his mid-to-late forties. He was overly muscular, with track marks running down his bulging arms and a round head that had short, fuzzy hairs growing on top like a peach, and was just as pink. He takes a seat at the counter and orders them both a drink.

“You’re not from `round here.” He says, bragging, as if he were so clever for recognizing that he was a stranger.

“I know `cause of how you was eying that security guard, all nervous and whatnot. You’re a crook, like me.”

Startled, Four looks up. He smirks.

“Aha! Betcha didn’t think ol’ Joel was smart `nuff to know, but you’d be wrong, my friend. See, I was on the inside for seventeen years, just got out on ‘ _good behaviour’_ -” he snorts. “So I know my kind when I see it. You in the brotherhood?”

Despite his better judgement, he reluctantly asks, “What brotherhood?”

“Well, not to brag or nothin’, but we call ourselves the Liberation Galaxy. Real fancy name, I know. It means we aim to fight the corruption in our legal system by doing the opposite of what it says. We’re basically like Robin Hood except, you know, not.”

Then Joel the brother of Liberation Galaxy pushed up the sleeve of his hot sauce stained t-shirt to reveal a crooked stick-and-poke tattoo that read,

**FUK DA CORONATIONS**

Four raises an eyebrow. “So you’re anti-monarchists, then?”

“Anti- _what?_ No, stupid. We hate them big wigs like Ferrous Corp. Can’t you read?”

Ah, yes. Those damn coronations, always trying to oppress the people by promoting literacy. Screw them.

“I see.” He deadpans. Joel gets comfortable, lighting up a cigar. Four takes a long drink, ignoring the smoke blowing in his face. He’s going to need it if he’s going to be forced to talk to this guy. He started to complain, very loudly, about his third ex-wife and how she was a no good gold digger bleeding him dry with all that damn child support. He can’t afford that, didn’t she know? He says this while chugging back his fourth glass of premium whiskey, the imported kind that cost six credits a pop.

Four sits there, continuingly pouring more water into his beer, hoping to make the most out of his meagre budget. It still did its job, and soon enough the lights in the room felt harsher, and were burning his retinas. Joel’s incessant rambling faded to background noise. His discretion got lower. So did his patience level for this man.

Mercifully, the subject matter did eventually change from him ranting about how the government was watching him to more pub-appropriate topics.

“You play?” he nods towards the old pool table in the centre of the room.

Four tells the truth. “I have no knowledge of this game.” He says, and Joel smiles like he just said, ‘here, take all my money’.

He stands, throwing the waitress another sleazy look before putting his cigarette out on the counter. He thumps over to the table, beckoning for Four to follow.

“Nothin’ to it, really! It’s just the old luck o’ the draw.” Eagar to be doing something physical, even if it was just a parlour game, he tolerated the man’s voice for a bit longer in order to hear the instructions. It seemed simple enough. Right before they began, Joel slapped a handful of bills in front of them.

“To make it interesting, whadoya say?” He finds himself nodding and placing down his own share. “I ‘cept your challenge.” He mumbles. His head hurts.

He watched as his opponent went first. It was a decent shot. Then he tried. The room span around him. It was a terrible shot. Second turn, missed again. Joel’s laughter behind him reminded Four of a hyena. Third try. This time, he focused, imagining the stick in his hand was a sword. He refused to lose this competition without first giving it his best. He made his move, and almost all the balls went in. He was so pleased that he ordered another beer, and downed it all in one big gulp. The game continued like that. With every round, he improved, until Joel was no longer laughing. He won. Joel was pissed.

“You’re cheatin’!” he accused. Four kept his expression passive as he collected his winnings. He tries to say, ‘I did not’, but it just comes out as a bunch of unintelligible noise.

Then he turned to leave, and he steps in front, blocking him.

“Move.”

“No way in hell! Not without my money!”

Four felt the anger rising in him again. He bares his teeth. “Isss not your money! I won. It’s mine.”

“You said you ain’t never played before! You lied!”

“Act’lly,” he sways. “Wha’ I said was, I had no knowledge o’ the game. And I didn’t. Now get outta my way.”

His bright red face kept contorting like it was going to bubble over. He slams a meaty fist down on the table.

“You hustled me!”

Something inside him snaps.

“Are you calling me dishonourable?”

Joel gets so close that their noses were almost touching. He could feel his stale breath on his face.

“No! I’m calling you a dirty cheater!”

And with that, Four punches him.

He must’ve hit him harder than he thought, because the larger man goes flying backwards and into a table. People scramble to get away. He does the respectable thing and waits for him to get back up. His punches are strong but without aim. He’s able to dodge most of them. He hears Joel swearing, screaming in the background, glass crunching underneath his shoes. Joel throws a bottle at his head. Fine. If he wants to play dirty, than Four is only too happy to oblige. With one particularly forceful kick, he brings him to the ground, and reaches for the pool cue.

Crumbled on the floor, Joel starts to beg. He sneers. Everything about this man is disgusting.

“Coward.” He spits the word out with all the hatred he had buried deep inside. “You’re _pathetic_.”

And for the first time in almost three years, he was no longer Four, the trusted crewmember of the Raza. No; it was Ryo Tetsuda who picked up that stick, who was prepared to beat an already broken man, who loomed over him without a hint of pity in his eyes. It was almost an out-of-body experience. He was aware of what he was doing, but he didn’t feel it. He didn’t feel anything at all.

“Four, stop!” And then someone was there, standing in between him and his target. He growls, grabbing the person by the collar of their shirt. His brain was slow to process. Then, through his tunnel vision, he saw blue eyes that he recognized. Five. His stomach drops, and reality come crashing down.

Disgusted with himself, he immediately releases her. He feels dirty.

“Five, whatcha doin’ here?” he slurs. She doesn’t belong anywhere near a bar fight. Five grabs his shoulder and steers him away, her words coming out in an urgent whisper.

“Keeping you out of jail! We can’t afford for someone to get arrested again! You know we ran out of bail money after that time Three went streaking outside a Subway-”

“FOR THE LAST TIME IT WAS A QUIZNOS!”

“-so how about you and me go get some air, okay? _Before_ the GA gets called.”

He scowls. “But I don’t like him.”

She looks down at the snivelling, bruised face of the man on the floor.

“Look at him Four, he’s nobody. It’s not even worth the effort.”

Four does look at him, and then back at her. The expression on her face is so earnest, that he’s reminded just how innocent she really is. Suddenly, his anger towards this man just doesn’t seem to matter anymore. He drops the pool cue.

…..

He felt much calmer away from the suffocating walls of the pub. Five decided to take TJ out for a walk, and he accompanied her. It had recently rained, making the air cool and damp. Fresh puddles shimmered like glass on the cracked sidewalk. His companion seemed to like this weather. She hummed to herself as they strode along, and whenever they came across a pool of water, she would jump in, her eyes lighting up as if she had never experienced something as wonderful as having wet shoes. Four didn’t understand her at all.

Still, he looked at the strange creature before him. At her hair, which was puffing out obscenely due to the humidity, to the oversized goggles hanging around her neck, to her jeans, which were already soaked around the ankles. Maybe it was the alcohol was loosening his tongue, but for once in his life, he felt like he needed to say _something_ -so he did.

“Hey.” He came to an abrupt halt. The humming stopped.

“H _ey_. Five. Come, Imma need t’ tell you a secret.”

Her serene expression melted into one of confusion. “What sort of secret?” she asked, with a hint of excitement peeking out. That. That was a good question. It was at this point that Four, somewhere in his fuzzy brain, realized he didn’t _have_ any secrets. Shit.

He stopped for a moment, contemplating. Then it hit him-not a secret, exactly, but certainly something he wouldn’t want anyone else to know.

“I hate people.” He stated boldly, and with great conviction for a man struggling to stay upright.

The corner of her mouth twitched. “Oh really? I would have never guessed.”

“I know.” He nods solemnly. Or he tries to, but then stops because _dear God_ , his _head_. “I keep m’r ‘motions hidden, but itsss true. I hate. I hate every-un. Really. I hate the fuckin’ empress, I hate my brother, and I hate _Six_.”

At his name, she winces a little bit, a reaction that only fuels his tirade. “See? Six is a _coward_. He lied. Li-ar. He made you sad. And that’s wrong because-”

He paused to look back at her. The anger inside him deflates.

“Because I don’t hate you.”

The last line was almost whispered. Then there was quiet. Damn. This is what he gets for trying to start conversation. Nothing good ever came of that.

However, Five suddenly loses her silly demeanour and looks him straight in the eye with all seriousness. "I don't hate you either." She says, and he is inexplicably happy about that. Sober Four may pretend he doesn’t care what a nerdy teenager thinks of him but intoxicated Four isn’t as good of an actor. He breathes a sigh of relief, and that's the last deep breath he gets before it all goes to hell.

"There he is! The little shit that weaselled me outta my money!"

His head whips around, and once the world stopped spinning, he saw where the voice had come from. In the distance was Joel from earlier. And he brought friends. Seven men were approaching them, and he could make out no distinguishing features. They were all just a combination of blackened teeth and crooked noses to him. Normally, this would not be a problem. But normally, he wasn’t drunk, unarmed, and with Five. This couldn’t happen.

“Run!” he shouts, and they take off, leaving the puddles trembling behind them. Left and right, round and round, the faded brick of the buildings spun endlessly in his eyes. He was too disoriented to keep track of where he was going. He kept trying to think clearly but all his mind could spit out was a jumbled chorus of _RunRunProtectFiveGetOutRunDon’tLetThemTouchFiveProtectRun_. He can hear the men getting closer. Then they turn the corner, and come to a dead end.

With a snarl, he throws her behind him. Joel, the leader of the group, laughed.

“Well whadoya know? He’s got himself a girlfriend!” His eyes slide down her body, and he gives a low whistle. “Damn, how old are ya, anyhow?”

Five says nothing. The muscle in her jaw jumps in anger. He grins, making the dry, patchy skin of his mouth crack like it was about to fall off. Four would tear it off himself if he didn’t stop leering at her.

“Hey!” he barks. “Your fight is with me. Stay `way from `er.”

That caught his attention. He turned to Four, his pupils so blown that his eyes were completely black. He was definitely high off of something. He cocks his head to the side in mock-confusion. “Huh? What’s the matter, short-stack, ya don’t like when people take things from ya?”

The herd advances around them, backing Four and Five against the wall. “Let’s see who’s pathetic now!”

And then he pulls something out of his coat, and Four feels his body go cold with rage.

He’s pointing a gun at Five.

This _bitch_. Is pointing. A _gun_. At _Five_.

Four doesn’t feel himself move, or hear the gun go off and hit the wall behind them. The next he’s aware, he’s on the ground with the fucker underneath him, _punching_. Punching as hard as he can. Again and again. He feels his nose break. The man gets a few good hits in. Somebody is yelling. Maybe it’s him. His ribs will be bruised tomorrow. He doesn’t care. He hits harder. The man is kicking. The man stops kicking. He’s dead. He doesn’t stop. He can’t stop. Hands grab his arms. Fingers dig into his skin. Bruises, bruises, bruises. All over his arms. Like the junkie he killed. His face scraps the ground. Blood on concrete, like a river. Pooling around dirty sneakers. He grabs the legs attached to the sneakers and pulls them down, down, down. He falls. Limbs, tangled together like a rope. Hands, wrapped around a throat like a noose. Somebody kicks him in the back. Only cowards attack from behind. Somebody hits his head. Pain explodes in his skull. He tightens his grip around the neck. He can’t stop. He twists. The body makes a thud. A gun goes off. A girl screams his name. Five. It’s Five, they’re trying to take away his Five. Kill them. Kill them all.

It’s only when he hears his name being called does he finally stop. The fog of his rage clears, and he sees all that he’s done. The alleyway had become a graveyard. There were corpses everywhere. Only one still stood, and he was currently keeping Five in a choke hold with the gun in the other hand, pointed at Four.

“Get on the ground!” he shrieks. His were shockingly red, just like everything else. “I said get on the fucking ground, now!”

He locks eyes with Five. She mouths _‘don’t’_ , but Four’s adrenalin was fading as rapidly as the colour in her face. He has to. Either he surrenders, and maybe Five lives, or he doesn’t, and they both die. No sense in that. Four was all about that practicality. So, exhausted and barely conscious, he falls to his knees, and the disgraced prince of Zairon utters what might be his last words to his executioner.

“You’re holding the gun wrong, you idiot.”

The gunman was a good decade younger than his accomplices, and Four could tell by his shaking hands that he was no killer. He kept staring at his feet. Four spoke again, his voice low.

“Always look a man in the eye when you kill him.” He says. The man-no, the boy-swallows audibly, and forces his eyes up. They were swimming with tears. Four stares down the barrel of the gun with no fear. His only regret was that he couldn’t drag him down to hell with him.

His hesitation provided Five with the opening she needed. With a flurry of motion, she threw him off her and the gun clattered a few feet away. Then they were fighting, throwing crude, inexperienced jabs at one another. Four dove for the gun, his vision failing.

Nobody noticed TJ.

The dog unfurled from his cowering position in the corner and stood. Beneath him, a loud cracking noise erupted as his legs began to stretch. Naturally at first, but then they just kept _going_ , sprouting like weeds from his torso. His skin began to bubble and _pop_ , revealing a brand new layer of lean muscle festering over his soft flesh. Thin, feather-like fur thickened into a coarse, spiky coat. His head expanded, growing at an accelerated rate, to accommodate a massive pair of jaws, powerful enough to crush boulders. From those jaws, foam began to form and drip down his front in long, slimy waterfalls. As the strings of saliva fell, the ground it touched burned away like acid, creating holes in the cement.

He let out an earth-rattling roar, and time froze. Everyone stopped moving and turned, stunned, to stare at the now eight foot tall, three-hundred pound beast that towered over them. His enormous paws echoed like claps of thunder in the empty alleyway as he stomped over to Five’s attacker.

And then he bent down, and bit the man’s arm off.

That broke the spell. His screams tore through the air like a slice from one of Four’s swords. He crumbled in complete agony as the thick crimson liquid gushed freely from the stump where his arm used to be and sprayed a fine red mist all over a petrified Five. Coming to her senses, she shoved him off of her and ran towards Four, her clothes now weighed down with blood. The two of them huddled together, caught between the wall and Five’s demonic dog. They were trapped.

TJ didn't appear to notice, however; instead, he continued to gnaw on the severed limb like it was a chew toy. The man's screams slowly died out, leaving a terror-filled silence. After what felt like hours, but could really only be a few minutes, he ceased his gorging and, picking up his new prize in his mouth, he padded over to Five and dropped the mangled appendage by her feet.

When she didn't immediately respond, he whined, pushing it closer to her with his nose. She blinked, slowly recovering from her shock. He was watching her, but not in a threatening way. His yellow eyes, the only part of him that remained unchanged, were wide and expecting, like he had presented her with a gift of a dead bird and was now waiting for her praise. His oversized tail waved lazily back and forth. She forced her lips into a smile.

"G-Good Boy." she whispered, reaching out a hand to pat his gigantic head. He barked, happily, and she smiled again, hesitant but real this time. Four finally felt himself relax. But the peace was short-lived. No sooner had the thing laid back down did they hear yet another crack.

Four tensed again, waiting for another fight, but there was none. Instead, only a malcontented whimper escaped its mouth before another crunch sounded, and his midsection seemed to collapse into itself, contracting like an accordion. He shed all of his excess skin, and the dog shrank away, leaving behind only a mountain of mangled flesh and fur.

A bark emanated from the pile. Throwing off Four's cautioning arm, Five ran to it. Her hands made wet squishing noises as she began to dig through the gore. Finally, her fingers found something solid. There was TJ, the same puppy as before, save for the mess that covered him.

"You're okay!" She exclaimed joyfully, rubbing his ears. Setting him down, she returns to him.

“Can you walk?” she prods, gently.

Letting go of the wall, he sways a bit. “Yeah, just…Can you-” he doesn’t finish his sentence before she’s there, letting him lean on her for support. She’s surprisingly sturdy for something so tiny. Like wood.

They walk back to the ship in silence.

…..

After taking two of the world’s longest showers, Four and Five were forced to report to the mess hall, in order to try and explain to the others exactly What The Hell Was Going On. Their team had many things to ask. Like, ‘Why are you both covered in blood?’,‘How come Five has bruises on her face?’ And, ‘Was that dog chewing on a human finger?’ All perfectly valid questions.

Four decided to let the girl do the talking. She tried her best not to alarm anyone, but as they soon discovered, there really was no way to put ‘My dog turned into a giant monster and ate a man’s arm’, without causing alarm. After a lot of yelling, TJ The Monster Dog was taken into the med bay and examined thoroughly by the Android. Her report was…Unexpected, to say the least.

“It appears as though his biology has been altered by the chemical toxins polluting his planet. His cells show signs of mutation, the likes of which there are no previous documentations of.” Two messages her temples. Four was certain that he could see the woman’s hair turning gray by the second.

“So what you’re saying is, the stray puppy that Five found is actually an alien?”

“Not exactly. Like I said, this ability he possesses is the result of a deformity, not his biology. He is, by all purposes, a normal dog. This transformation appears to be a defense mechanism he obtained in order to survive the harsh conditions of his environment.”

One’s eyebrows scrunched together. “A defense mechanism triggered by what?”

“Adrenalin. You said that the man he attacked was harming Five, yes?” She prompted Four, who was hovering alone by the wall. He looks at the patchwork of fresh bruises on Five’s face that were quickly turning the same color as her hair. He swallows down a growl.

“That is correct.”

The Android nods as if expecting this. “Then I believe that it was his protective instincts which caused the change.”

At that, Two’s expression softens. Four almost snorts. Their youngest team member certainly seemed to have a gift for bringing the ‘protective instincts’ out of monsters. Three was the first one to get over his shock.

“Holy shit, kid, your dog is the Hulk!”

“Not helping, Three.”

“Shut up, Pretty Boy, I like that movie. So what we gonna do with the Hulk dog?”

That was the question.

They thought about killing it. They thought about dumping it on a planet somewhere. They thought about selling it. Four doesn’t give his opinion for most of the exchange, until he finally looks at the creature again. The little Not Alien was apparently tired from consuming all that human flesh, and had decided that the best possible place to take a nap was on the floor beside his feet. Why it was so fond of him, he would never know. The feeling was definitely not mutual, but watching him now was making him think.

“We should keep it.” He said, suddenly. The others turned to him in surprise.

“You can’t be serious.” Two said, incredulously.

Four stared at her evenly. “I am. We are the most wanted people in the galaxy and almost everyone we meet wants to kill us. It might be useful to have something like this around. At the very least, it would make a good guard dog for Five.”

Three shrugs. “He has a point.”

The captain hesitates for a moment, and then nods. “Okay. He can stay for now-” Five makes a delighted sound. “-But I want the Android to keep running scans. Just in case he turns out to be radioactive or something. Keep me posted.”

She leaves then, signalling the end of their meeting. The smile Five gives him is so bright he feels compelled to look away so he doesn’t go blind.

“Thanks.” She said. “For convincing her.”

He keeps his eyes on TJ. Even he’s wagging his tail in gratitude.

“I just presented her with an argument based solely on logic.”

“Logic.” Her voice was dry and, did he detect a hint of amusement? “Right.”

He goes back to his training room. He knew that playing the protection card would work. Two loved that girl and anything that might help to keep her safe was an asset in her eyes.

He looks up at his clock sitting on the shelf.

(And maybe in his eyes, too.)

…..

That night, Four found that he could not sleep. He goes to the kitchen and finds Five already at the table, staring blankly into space. Boiling two cups of the terrible tea that they both like for some reason, he goes to the chair beside her. They sit silently, and for a moment everything was blissfully, perfectly normal. It was so normal that he was able to forget about the never-ending shit parade that was his life. He felt pleasantly warm, and he wasn’t sure if it was coming from the tea or the person sitting next to him. He speaks up,

“Dreams again?” She glances up at him sleepily. “Nah, just thinking.”

He nods. “It has been an eventful day.”

She lets out a small giggle that quickly turns into a yawn.

“That’s one way of putting it. Our lives are weird.”

“Indeed.” He feels something nudge his leg. He looks down to see TJ there. He thinks about rejecting him again, but he doesn’t have the energy. So he pats him on the head, and much to his absolute displeasure, the dog jumps onto his lap. He huffs, annoyed. Five laughs out loud.

“Oh, so you find this harassment amusing?”

“Your face is amusing!”

He melds his very amusing face into a severe look.

“You just earned yourself twenty extra push-ups during training tomorrow, Little Warrior.”

A smirk. “Bring it on.”

He doesn’t need to see her to know that she’s smiling, because he can hear it in her voice. It makes him want to smile back. So he sits there, struggling to keep his rebelling cheeks from moving upwards because it’s just not _dignified_ -and Five sobers up suddenly.

“Hey-you don’t normally wake up in the middle of the night. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Even if I wasn’t, you couldn’t do anything about it, so what does it matter?”

“It matters to me.”

Four closes his eyes and thinks about his current situation. He used to be a prince. He used to be rich, powerful, respected, and in line to be the ruler of his very own planet. Now he’s a fugitive, wanted for a crime he didn’t commit, living on a barely functioning spaceship with no memories. Today he almost died, took a bath in the blood of his enemies, and killed six people. Now he’s sitting here at two in the morning drinking battery acid, and talking to a teenage criminal hacker with an actual abomination of nature sitting in his lap.

But you know what? He doesn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Yes,” he says, after a pause. “I’m alright.”

And he was.


End file.
